


droit du seigneur

by silvyri



Series: The Old Guard Kinkmeme Fills [4]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Beard Burn, Blood, Blow Jobs, Bottom Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Child Abuse, Death of an OC, Droit du Seigneur, Harlequin, Help, Loss of Virginity, Lovebites, M/M, Medieval Fantasy AU, Nicky's mother is an asshole, Onesided OC/Nicolo, Right of the first night, Sword Fighting, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Virgin Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, at all, i have no idea what i am doing, no beta we die like men, not historically accurate, unwanted touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvyri/pseuds/silvyri
Summary: When Nicky is summoned to dinner by his mother that night, he does not expect anything life changing. However, he leaves the dining room engaged to a man that makes him sick, with a wedding date set for only a month in the future. There seems to be no escape, and he is resigned to accept a miserable life married to a monster so that his mother can live in luxury, and so his beloved little sister does not have to meet the same fate as him.Nicky's marriage night quickly approaches, but someone has his misery brought to their attention. Someone with the power to change what seems inescapable.  Someone who can claim the right of the first night, so that Nicky's first time does not have to be the worst experience of his life.(A The Old Guard Kinkmeme fill.)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: The Old Guard Kinkmeme Fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938385
Comments: 272
Kudos: 944





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I was working on a new chapter of 'all hail the algorithm' and this happened instead. Someone take the tog kinkmeme away from me.
> 
> A fill for this prompt [here](https://theoldguardkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4108.html?thread=1310732#cmt1310732). Thanks for the awesome prompt nonnie!
> 
> I have no idea where this is set, or what time it is set at. Something vaguely medieval where people ride horses in the streets? And there are Sirs and Lords and floaty white shirts and arranged marriages and big mansions with extravagant gardens??? I'm just hand waving my way through this. The prompt grabbed me by my balls and refused to let me go. So here we are.
> 
> (It was totally pointed out to me that I've filled another arranged marriage prompt. With virgin!Nicky. I didn't even notice. I am a clown.)

When Nicky is summoned to dinner that night, he does not think much of it. Somedays his mother is possessed by flights of fancy and demands that he attend dinner, so they can pretend to be a happy family for a night, exchanging fake pleasantries over roasted quail and delicate, tasteless sauces that Nicky doesn’t care much for. So Nicky laments what he thought was going to be a peaceful night in the library, changes out of his comfortable day clothes into appropriate dinner attire, and makes his way to the dining room when he is called for.

He pauses at the threshold of the room, hand on the door handle. There is a strange man seated next to his mother, his dark hair peppered with grey and his eyes a cold blue, locked onto Nicky as soon as he’d arrived. He stands, after a moment, his chair legs scraping painfully across the wooden floor, and smiles. He is handsome enough, possibly in his early forties or younger, but something about him makes Nicky distinctly uncomfortable. It might be the way that those cold blue eyes run down his body and then back up again, salacious. 

“Nicolò!” His mother proclaims, smiling widely. “Come, sit, and meet Sir Williams.”

Nicky looks to his mother, to his younger sister, Sofia, who stares quietly back at him. Her expression says she has no idea either.

“I did not know we were entertaining tonight, mother,” Nicky says carefully, “otherwise I would have worn something nicer.”

“Nonsense,” Sir Williams says, “you look lovely, Nicolò. Come join us, your mother was just telling me all about you.” He rounds the rather large table, and pulls out a chair next to Sofia, where a place is already set, and soup has already been served. 

Nicky sits carefully, thanking Sir Williams as he pulls his napkin into his lap. He exchanges another quick glance with Sofia, who still is as confused as he is, before his attention is called by Sir Williams again, who is seated back in his place. 

“You can read and write?” The man asks, picking up his soup spoon. He seems only passably interested in his own question. His gaze is still centered on Nicky's face, lingering on his mouth.

Nicky blinks. “Yes,” he says, and when his mother makes an irritated noise, elaborates. “I wanted to enter the seminary, so I paid very close attention to my studies. And I found I had a passion for books.”

Sir Williams makes a dismissive noise, then a thoughtful one, swallowing a mouthful of soup. “The seminary. A priest. So you are a virgin.”

Sofia’s spoon clangs against her bowl and Nicky goes stiff. He looks to his mother, who looks back at him with a cold, closed off gaze. She takes a delicate sip of soup from her spoon.

 _So this is how it is going to be,_ Nicky thinks. A ringing begins in his ears. He feels like he has been dunked in freezing lake water, and will not be let back up for air.

When Nicky doesn’t reply, his mother steps in. “Nicolò has had no suitors, and he is always locked up in his library of his. I can assure you, he is untouched.”

This time, Sir Williams makes a pleased noise. “That is very good, yes.”

Under the table, Sofia’s hand reaches for him. Nicky grasps it thankfully, using his little sister’s warm grip to anchor himself. He thinks he might be trembling, and he hopes that he does not rattle the table. He does not pick up his spoon for the soup. He has no appetite. 

“I find it hard to believe, however, that you have had no suitors,” Sir Williams says after another mouthful of soup. “You are rather pleasing to the eye.”

Nicky grasps Sofia’s hand tighter. “You flatter me, Sir,” he says, and is proud that his voice doesn’t waver.

Sir Williams snorts. “Don’t avoid the question.”

Nicky swallows dryly. “I have had some enquiries,” he says, “but I have never been receptive. I have been… waiting for the right person.”

His mother makes another one of her irritated noises, but Sir Williams laughs. “A romantic. How quaint. Well, stand up again, let me see you properly.”

Nicky looks to his mother, pleading. She only lifts an eyebrow at him, and Nicky sets his mouth. He’s a fool to think that she would care for his feelings. Sofia begins to speak, but Nicky squeezes her hand, removes his napkin from his lap, and stands.

“Come closer,” Sir Williams bids, and Nicky rounds the table on numb legs. He comes to a stop next to Sir Williams, who rakes his eyes over him again, lingering on his shoulders and hips and thighs, his mouth. “Turn around,” he says, and Nicky closes his eyes. He feels like an animal, being inspected to see if he is fat enough to cull. 

He turns. Sir Williams hums something, sounding pleased. “Yes,” he says, “he will do nicely. Beautiful.”

Nicky turns around again, staring at the floor. His cheeks feel hot with shame, but he feels so pale with terror at the same time, his blood receding from his extremities. He sits back down in his place again, wondering how he was able to walk when he feels like he could faint, and when Sofia reaches for him, he grips her small hand like a lifeline.

“Nicolò,” his mother says, her eyes glistening in the candle light. “Say thank you to your fiancé for his compliment.”

~~~

Nicky cries that night, alone in his room. He had not cried in front of Sofia, when she had come to comfort him. He does not want her to suffer, as she is sensitive, and seeing him in such a state would hurt her. 

But alone now, with only his books to comfort him, he cries quietly into his pillow. He had known that he would be married off at some point, that his mother would make a match for him to bring their family wealth, but he did not think he would be given to such a crude, cruel older man. He thought he would have more time. He is only twenty and one, he is still young, why does she have to make a choice now? He wants to live his life for a little longer. 

But the wedding has been set already, without Nicky’s knowledge or consent. The dinner had only been for Sir Williams to get a proper look and feel for him. He had liked what he had seen, so the proceedings were to continue. Nicky is to be married at the end of the month. 

For a moment, he considers running away. Finding a little cottage in the countryside, or a shack by the sea, and never marrying unless he falls in love. But then he remembers Sofia, and he cannot leave her. If he does, he is sure his mother will marry her off to an equally awful man in order to gain riches, and Nicky cannot do that to her. Sir Williams is wealthy enough that Nicky’s mother could let Sofia marry for love, or not marry at all, if that was her wish. 

So Nicky stays curled up under his sheets, his hands covering his face, and lets himself mourn his freedom and hope for the future. He will never be happy again. 

~~~

Luckily, tradition dictates that there must be a chaperone present if Sir Williams and Nicky are within each other’s presence. It stops Sir Williams from doing anything untoward to Nicky, but it does not stop his words. 

“I expect obedience at all times,” he states as they walk through the gardens in Nicky’s home. He has linked their arms together, and Nicky is staying as far away as he possibly can from the man while trapped in his grip. Stefano, a servant, is trailing after them, at a certain distance to not hear their conversation, but close enough to keep an eye on how close they are to each other. Nicky is sure if he was not there, Sir Williams would be pulling him a lot closer. He seems to covet Nicky’s body like expensive jewels, or a particularly tasty piece of meat.

“You will do everything I ask of you,” Sir Williams continues, patting Nicky’s arm. “Whether it be to shine my shoes, serve me dinner, or go to your knees and service me with your pretty mouth.” He says horrible things like he is commenting on the weather, and Nicky swallows bile that creeps up his throat. “You will please my every whim, otherwise your family will not get a cent of my earnings. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” Nicky murmurs, eyes downcast. 

“Yes, what?”

Nicky tries not to choke. “Yes, Sir Williams.”

The hand on his arm pats him again, and Nicky forces himself not to flinch. 

“Good boy,” Sir Williams says, “see, it is not so hard. You will learn, and learn quickly. I have a temper, young Nicolò, it is best not to ire me. I will be terribly put out to see your lovely face bruised if you inspire my anger.”

“I will try not to,” Nicky says softly. 

“See that you don’t, hm? I’m sure there will be a bit of a learning curve, but I am willing to put up with some fumbling as you are untouched and innocent, and would not know of an older man’s desires.”

Nicky looks very intently at the grass under his feet as they walk. “That is very generous of you,” he says. He has an overwhelming urge to tear himself from Sir Williams’s hold and run and run and never stop, but he pushes the impulse down. 

“I am, aren’t I? Very generous, that is,” Sir Williams says, sighing. “You’re very lucky to have been chosen by me, Nicolò. There will be many young boys and girls who will be very jealous of your fortune.”

 _I doubt it,_ Nicky thinks. He looks up to the sky above the treetops, and does not comment.

Sir Williams doesn’t seem to mind. He likes the sound of his own voice the most. He probably expects Nicky to be quiet and obedient anyway. “Do you know why I chose you?” He asks, pausing in front of the fountain in the gardens. It has fallen into slight disrepair as Nicky’s mother wastes Nicky’s late father’s money on frivolous things and not upkeep on their land, but it is still beautiful.

“No, I do not,” Nicky replies. _I wish you had never chosen me at all._

“Not only are you beautiful, but you hold yourself like you think you are better than everyone else,” Sir Williams states, and Nicky goes very still. He does _not_ think that. At all. “And it lights a fire inside of me, thinking of how I will bend you to my will. My friends and colleagues as well, they have commented on your looks, your bearing. They will treat me very generously to get a night with you. You will bring me great fortune, Nicolò, I know it.”

Nicky makes sure there is no expression showing on his face. He tells himself, _a stone, a stone at the bottom of a still, deep lake, unmovable, unfeeling, uncaring._ Because if he lets himself feel, he thinks he may break. He says nothing, but it seems like Sir Williams does not expect him to, and pulls Nicky onwards by his arm.

~~~

Sir Williams seems intent on dragging Nicky around everywhere with him. It makes Nicky highly uncomfortable; he’s not a sociable person on the best of days, and he doesn’t go out in public often. Sir Williams, however, seems to love having Nicky on his arm to show everyone that he has gained a young, pretty, virginal fiance, and cannot wait for his wedding night.

They’re in town, and Sir Williams is shopping for new shoes for the wedding. Nicky doesn’t know why he needs Nicky to do this, but again, it seems, he only wants to show Nicky off. Nicky is in a constant state of anxiety even as he endeavours to be unfeeling, but he cannot ignore the looks of pity from the townspeople, or the roaming eyes and leering comments of Sir Williams's acquaintances.

They’ve just come out of possibly the fifth store (Nicky has lost count) when there is a commotion on the street.

“The new Lord,” Sir Williams sneers, watching as a few men and women on horseback slowly ride down the street. “Coming to see the lands he plans to ruin, I see.”

Nicky looks curiously over the heads of the people beginning to crowd the street, wanting as well to catch a glimpse of their new Lord. 

“I cannot believe that the Lordship went to a _foreigner,”_ Sir Merrick, Sir Williams’s friend, just as old and just as horrible, says. He spits out the word _foreigner_ like an insult.

“You would think they could find another living relative to inherit the position that wasn’t some far off floozy when the last Lord died,” Sir Williams says, “one that wouldn’t bring such a shameful contingency. _Women,_ in his counsel? And coloured as well? It’s shameful.”

Nicky would very much like to punch Sir Williams in the face, and he is not prone to violence. But when Sir Williams and his friends talk like that, it drives Nicky to new heights of anger. As always, he suppresses it, digs his nails into his palms to distract himself, and puts all his attention on the man at the front of the mounted party.

He is dressed finely, but practically, with no terribly expensive embellishments that the last Lord was fond of. His hair is dark and tightly curled, and his skin is a lovely tanned bronze. He sports a neat beard, as dark as the curls on his head, and when he smiles his warm brown eyes crinkle at the corners. He is breathtaking, and Nicky finds himself unable to tear his eyes away as he stops his horse to speak to one of the townsfolk.

But then he dismounts, and he is lost from Nicky’s eyesight. Disappointed, Nicky casts his eye over the riders who are accompanying the new Lord. Along with his guards there are three woman, one pale, tall and unfashionably short haired but beautiful in her severe looks, dressed like a man with an axe strapped to her back, another woman, golden skinned with slim dark eyes and a quick smile, just as beautiful as the pale woman but passionately so, and the third woman, with skin dark and hair twisted into braids, face open and of course, stunningly lovely. There is also a man, pale-skinned, broad and handsome with blond scruff covering his cheeks and chin, who is speaking to the lady with the braids. 

_Of course a beautiful lord surrounds himself with beautiful people,_ Nicky thinks wistfully. They all seem like wonderful people, talking amongst themselves and the townspeople who have come to greet them, all with smiles on their faces as they grasp offered hands. 

“A disgrace,” Sir Merrick sniffs, and Nicky is jolted out of observing as Sir Williams takes his arm and leads him forward. 

“Come, Nicolò, I do not want to see such a gross display,” Sir Williams says sharply. His grip is hard on Nicky’s bicep, and he takes long strides. Nicky stumbles after him, wincing, and does not notice the tall, pale woman watching him being dragged away with observant blue eyes.

~~~

“Who is that, Booker?” Andy asks as she watches the young man with haunted eyes being pulled away by a sour-faced man.

Booker turns and follows her eyesight. “Young Nicolò di Genova,” he supplies promptly. Andy still doesn’t quite know how he knows everyone of importance when he has only been in these lands a few days just as the rest of them, but that is just Booker. “He is recently engaged to a Sir Roger Williams, the man with him, who is almost twice his age, and who has a sizeable fortune.”

“What is Sir Roger Williams like?” Andy asks, still watching as Nicolò is manhandled down the street behind the crowd. Beside her, Quynh has noticed what she has spotted as well, and is making a low, angry noise.

“As awful as his face, I presume?” Quynh comments.

“Quite,” Booker says dryly.

“He’s gross,” Nile says, joining in the conversation, “I heard from Dizzy that he’s a racist asshole, and everyone in the town and surrounding lands despises him. He harasses young men and ladies, and cheats people who cannot afford it out of their money. He only keeps friends with the rich, and it is only the just as terrible rich that keep company with him.”

Quynh makes a face.

“And what is young Nicolò like?” Andy asks.

“Quiet, keeps to himself,” Booker says, “but kind, and willing to help people in need. The townspeople only speak well of him. His father died only a few years ago, and the rumour is his mother sold him off to Sir Williams as her money is dwindling. He has a younger sister that he is very fond of. Sofia.”

“Who are we gossiping about?” Joe says as he swings back into the saddle.

Nile nods her head where Nicolò is being pushed into a carriage. Andy watches as Joe’s eyes focus on Nicolò’s face, and cannot be drawn away until the young man disappears from sight.

“Oh,” Joe says, looking a little dazed. In all the time Andy has known him, Joe has never been so astounded by someone from just a fleeting glimpse.

“He is to be married in a week's time,” Booker says, and Joe’s face falls.

But Andy is thinking, and when she looks to her love, Quynh has the same look on her face. Joe’s newfound Lordship comes with perks, after all. Perks that can derail an ill suited marriage. First, however, they will need to do some more observing to see if their meddling will be welcomed. 

~~~

“Mother, please,” Nicky begs for the first time in years. He is ashamed of his tears, his cowardice, but it is the night before his wedding, and he cannot bear the thought of his marriage bed tomorrow night. “Please do not make me do this.”

His mother stands tall and disapproving in front of him, her lips pursued in disgust. “You will do what I tell you to do,” she tells him coldly.

“Please,” Nicky pleads, “all these years, I have done everything you have asked of me. Please do not ask me to do this. Anyone else, please. He disgusts me—”

The room echoes with the sound of his mother’s hand slapping his left cheek. Nicky’s head whips with the force of it, and he touches his cheek as more tears spill over.

“I do not care if he is a pig, or if you cannot bear the thought of his touch. He is _rich_ Nicolò, he will save this family, he will save me and your sister from destitution. Do you want us to _starve?_ Do you want us to lose this house, our fortune? Our position in society?”

Nicky shakes his head, staring at the floor in shame. The carpet wavers in his vision, tears coming faster now as his heart bleeds. 

“You are a _selfish, ungrateful child,”_ his mother spits at him. “All these years I’ve fed, educated, and housed you, and this is how you repay me? You are unwilling to do the one thing that will make me truly happy?”

“I am sorry, mother,” Nicky whispers. “I will do as you say.”

His mother sniffs. “Get out of my sight.”

He leaves her rooms, and Sofia is waiting outside for him. She draws him into her arms, and cries with him, tells him that they will run away, far away, and live happy lives together somewhere, but Nicolò knows that it cannot be. They have no way of making a living, and Sofia deserves a comfortable life.

He is getting married tomorrow to the man of his nightmares, and he cannot do anything about it. 

~~~

Nicky sits resigned beside his husband. His marriage suit itches, and is too tight around his waist, and the music is too loud, and so many strange people surround him, but all that is not what makes his position unbearable. It is his husband’s hand high on his thigh, gripping painfully tight, and the ring around his finger, which every time he catches sight of it, makes him sick.

There is rich food on his plate, and expensive wine in his cup, but Nicky cannot eat or drink. His stomach rolls at the thought.

“Too nervous to eat?” Sir Williams says into his ear. Nicky swallows, breathing shallowly, as Sir Williams’s putrid, hot, alcohol tainted breath washes over his cheek. “I understand, Nicolò, you are scared of what lies ahead of you, in my bed tonight.”

Nicky’s hands shake in his lap.

“You should be terrified,” Sir Williams continues, his hand moving up Nicky’s thigh under the table. “The thought that you are untouched makes me _burn._ I will likely fuck you so hard that I make you bleed.”

Nicky closes his eyes, horrified tears forming behind his eyelids. 

“I can go all night, Nicolò. And you may cry, but you will not ask me to stop and ruin my partaking of you. You will be a quiet, obedient, dutiful husband, and take my cock like you were made to.”

Sir Williams’s hand reaches his hip, and squeezes. Nicky’s fingernails dig so deeply into his palms he breaks the skin and draws blood. He feels no pain. He only feels despair, disgust, and bone-deep terror. Tonight will be the end of his life. He knows he will only be a living corpse after Sir Williams rapes him, an empty shell of a body to be used and passed around like a plaything. He hopes Sofia will not be too heartbroken when she comes to visit, and he is gone too far for her to reach him.

Abruptly, Sir Williams stands. “Good friends,” he bellows, lifting his wine glass, and the banquet hall goes silent. “I thank you profusely for attending this wonderful occasion of my marriage to a pretty young virgin,” he hiccups, swaying a little where he stands. Nicky stares down at the congealing sauce on his plate, lips pressed together tightly, lest he start screaming and never stop. “And I hope you are all having a glorious time!”

There’s a cheer and a lifting of wine glasses. 

“But, I say, with a heavy heart, and utmost reluctance, that I must take my leave from this wonderful celebration to break in my new whore!”

This time, the cheer is so loud it rings in Nicky’s ears. Blood drips from his palms, his stomach twists, his vision swims and blurs. He thinks he may be sick; he thinks he might faint. Cruelly, however, fate decides it will not be so. He stays fully conscious as his husband, his tormentor, reaches down for him. 

The heavy double doors at the end of the banquet hall slam open with a loud bang. The crowd falls silent as everyone twists in their seats to see who has interrupted the proceedings.

Lord al-Kaysani stands at the threshold, his beautiful face set with righteous anger. Behind him stands his contingency, their eyes judging as they sweep the hall with their cool gazes.

“How is it,” Lord al-Kaysani says, somehow both deadly quiet and loud enough to be heard by everyone, “that the first wedding under my rule is happening tonight, and I have not been extended an invitation.” It’s not a question, but a statement.

It’s so silent that you could hear a pin drop. For the first time tonight, it feels like Nicky can breathe. For a while, his ordeal has been postponed. 

Sir Williams clears his throat. His knuckles are white as he grips his wine glass. “My Lord,” he says, his face turning an unbecoming colour of an overripe tomato. “I—apologise for the oversight.” His voice sounds like the exact opposite of an apology.

“Somehow, I think you are lying,” Lord al-Kaysani says dryly. He takes a step forward, and his boots click against the stone floor. His contingency stays at the door. One of the women fiddles with a dagger, flipping her long, dark hair over her shoulder, another leans against the doorframe, her axe glinting in the light. “Somehow, I think, you do not want me to be here.”

He comes to a stop in front of the marriage table that Nicky is sitting at, frozen, and Sir Williams is standing behind, slowly turning a darker shade of red. 

“Well, that is too bad,” Lord al-Kaysani says, and nobody can mistake the steel in his voice for a pleasant conversational tone. “Because I am here now, Sir Williams. And I claim the right of the first night. Droit du seigneur.”

The wine glass shatters in Sir Williams’s hand. Wine and blood seep into his sleeve and he howls, both in pain and in anger. 

But Lord al-Kaysani only has eyes for Nicky. “Come, Nicolò,” he beckons, holding his hand out, “I will not hurt you.”

Nicky stares up at him, his eyes wide. Lord al-Kaysani’s gaze is warm, and kind, and his hand is steady as he waits. Nicky does not need to make the choice. He knows that this is his only chance. But even if it wasn't, there is something in Lord al-Kaysani's expression that makes Nicky think that if Nicky refused, the Lord would not be angry, and accept Nicky's wishes. And that makes Nicky even more sure.

He stands and takes Lord al-Kaysani’s hand. Lord al-Kaysani smiles at him, his eyes crinkling handsomely at their corners, and for the first time in a long while, Nicky feels like there is solid ground beneath his feet.

~~~

Sir Williams is _furious._ He shouts and rants profanities, but he does not put up a fight. The law is the law, after all. Lord al-Kaysani’s steps are steady and unhurried as he walks down between the tables full of hushed wedding guests to where his contingency waits at the door. Nicky walks beside him, and there is something so sure, so comforting in Lord al-Kaysani’s grip on his hand that he does not stumble on his weak legs as they make it to the door, and then out into the hallway beyond. 

The women swing the double doors shut behind them, and lean against them, smiling grimly. Lord al-Kaysani turns to Nicky, who is starting to think maybe he did pass out at the banquet, and that this is all a pipe dream, that he will wake soon and be naked in his marriage bed, Sir Williams hovering over him with a greedy smile on his face.

“Let me see your hands,” Lord al-Kaysani says, and lifts Nicky’s palms up. In each palm there are four deep crescent moons in the shape of Nicky’s nails, still weeping blood. Lord al-Kaysani must have felt the hot ruby liquid against his palm as he’d held Nicky’s hand. Lord al-Kaysani makes a grieved noise when he sees the wounds, and before Nicky can stop him, reaches down and tears strips from his own fine white shirt.

“My Lord,” Nicky protests, stammering, but Lord al-Kaysani hushes him, and with gentle hands wraps each of Nicky’s palms with the makeshift bandages.

“That will have to do before we can wash and bandage them properly,” Lord al-Kaysani says, smiling at Nicky with his lovely warm eyes. “I apologise, for not coming sooner.”

Nicky has no idea what is going on. His mind reels, his knees are wobbling. This is not a dream. He is both so very relieved that he could cry, but also so very confused. “My Lord,” he stammers again, “I do not—I do not understand.”

Lord al-Kaysani pats the back of one of Nicky’s hands, and lets it drop carefully. “You may call me Joe, if it pleases you,” he says.

Nicky draws a shaky breath. He says nothing. Lord al-Kaysani— _Joe’s_ gaze has caught Nicky’s, and Nicky is helpless to it. Something is quietly blooming in his chest, his heart, and it feels light, and bright, and beautiful. Like something with feathers.

Somebody clears their throat. Joe’s eyes leave Nicky’s, and Nicky is left bereft. 

“We should probably leave before they begin to riot,” the handsome blond man says.

“Book’s right,” the lady with the long dark braids says, “it’s not everyday that a Lord claims droit du seigneur. It’s still lawful, but it doesn’t mean they have to like it.”

“You’re very right,” Joe says, and turns to Nicky. “I’m sorry that this is happening so fast, but please, don’t be afraid.” He holds his hand out again.

Nicky does not hesitate. “I am not,” Nicky says, and takes it.


	2. part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah okay i might've gotten carried away writing the smut
> 
> and uh you may have noticed the chapter count go up don't @ me

There is a bright fire lit in the first of Joe’s rooms, and Nicky turns his face towards it’s warmth, letting the heat chase away the chill that the ride to the Lord’s manor had infused in his body. They had arrived shortly before, and Joe’s contingency had left only moments after, disappearing into their own rooms, claiming exhaustion from the night’s events. They’d all glanced meaningfully Joe’s way before they had, however, and although Nicky could not decipher their looks, Joe had shifted on his feet before guiding Nicky to his own chambers, a broad hand on the small of Nicky’s back.

Joe is standing at the doorway now, having a quiet conversation with a servant. Their tones are too hushed for Nicky to overhear, but Nicky finds himself too lost in his own thoughts to even attempt to eavesdrop. 

His hands tremble where he holds them in his lap, and he stares into the orange flames, feeling adrift and unsure of his situation. He is not afraid, no, Joe’s kind gaze and gentle hands had banished that emotion from him in mere moments, but he finds that he is anxious, on edge. He has spent an entire month dreading this very night, and now that it has arrived, it is so far from what he had been expecting that he does not know what to do with himself.

 _Droit du seigneur._ The right of the first night. He is beyond grateful and relieved that Sir Williams is not to be the one to take his first from him, but Nicky is not to leave these rooms in the morning untouched just the same. Sir Williams had told Nicky that he had intended to make Nicky bleed in his marriage bed, and on other sickeningly memorable occasions, had said he intended to chain Nicky to his bedposts, gag him and let his friends fuck him for days so as to teach Nicky his place. Sir Willliams has made the idea of sex so wholly undesirable to Nicky that Nicky doesn’t think he could ever enjoy it. But maybe, maybe with Joe, it will not be so bad. Nicky cannot imagine Joe being so rough with him.

Joe is still speaking to the servant at the door. Nicky looks at him, at his broad back and strong shoulders and head of lovely curls, and his fingers go to his shirt buttons. He is to be naked, is he not? That was how these things went. Joe will expect him to be naked, and obedient.

His fingers shake on the mother of pearl, and he has only managed to undo three buttons by the time Joe turns and sees him. Something flashes across his handsome face, something akin to dismay, and he crosses the room with long strides to halt Nicky’s hands with his.

“Nicolò, no, first we will attend to your wounds, and then we shall speak of what is to happen tonight. Do not be so hasty, you look as pale as a ghost.”

Nicky stares at him, wide-eyed, and the tension slowly releases from his shoulders. He lowers his hands, and Joe smiles at him. 

There is a knock on the door.

“Yes, come in,” Joe says, tearing his gaze from Nicky’s to watch as two servants file in. “Here, between us,” Joe instructs one carrying a gently steaming basin of water, and shifts across the chaise lounge so it can be placed between them. The other servant hands Joe a small woven basket filled with bandages, cloths and a jar of salve, that he sets aside.

Joe smiles. “Thank you, Anna, Robert, that will be all.” Both servants respectively curtsy and bow, and quietly leave the room.

Joe turns back to Nicky. “Your hands, please,” he says, holding his own out.

Nicky stares at him. Surely he is not intending to treat Nicky’s wounds himself? It is so below Joe’s station that Nicky is thoroughly taken aback. Has Nicky misunderstood something here? “My Lord,” he stammers, “I can tend to myself, you do not need to lower yourself so far—”

“Please, call me Joe,” Joe interrupts, smiling gently. “And I am not lowering myself in order to tend to your hurts. In fact, the only harrowing aspect of soothing your wounds is that I have not been able to prevent you from being hurt in the first place.”

Joe is the strangest Lord that Nicky has ever met. “My wounds are self-inflicted,” Nicky says slowly, “they are of no fault of yours, they are mine.”

“They are _not_ your fault,” Joe tells him. His fine eyes spark with anger, but not at Nicky. “They are the fault of your _husband,”_ he says the word husband like it is poison on his tongue, “and of the distress he has caused you with his disgusting words. I have heard them with my own ears tonight, and I have heard what the townspeople have observed him saying to you. How your mother ever thought it right to give your hand in marriage to him, I will never understand.”

Nicky swallows around a dry tongue, shocked at the vehemence in Joe’s tone. “She did what she thought was right for our family,” he says quietly.

“It was not right, it was cruel,” Joe says. “Her love for her son should be stronger than her love for money and comfort. How you bore this burden so well is astounding. If I was to be married to such a man, I would have run, and run far.”

Nicky drops his gaze. “I could not leave my sister to the same fate,” he explains, and his voice is beginning to shake. “And I could not take her with me if I did. She deserves a good life, not one on the run.”

“You are far too good a person for the likes of this earth,” Joe says, looking at Nicky like he is something wondrous. “Now please, your hands, if you would give me the privilege of them.”

Nicky looks down at Joe’s hands, at his artists fingers and sword calloused palms, extended towards him, and tentatively places his own in Joe’s.

“Thank you, Nicolò,” he says, wrapping his fingers carefully around Nicky’s. “I will endeavour to be gentle, but please, tell me if I cause you any pain.”

Nicky is beginning to think that Joe could never, ever cause him any pain, other than the yearning ache that is beginning to form in Nicky’s chest. “I will,” he says quietly, and watches as Joe immerges his hands in the warm water. The water saturates the makeshift bandages wrapped around Nicky’s palms, and helps unstick them from the dried blood from his wounds. Joe unwinds them carefully, and lets them sink to the bottom of the basin as he inspects Nicky’s cuts.

“Not too deep,” he says, relieved, and wipes away the rust coloured remnants of Nicky’s blood still clinging to his skin with a damp cloth. He lets go of Nicky only long enough to unscrew the top off the jar of ointment, scenting the air lightly herbaceous, before carefully smoothing a thin layer of salve over the crescent shaped injuries on Nicky’s palms.

The ointment tingles pleasantly, and cools the faint pain that Nicky had been feeling. Joe’s touch is impossibly gentle as he wraps new bandages around Nicky’s hands, and his soft, caring ministrations begin to make tears form in Nicky’s eyes. He is _exhausted_ from his month long ordeal, and he almost cannot believe that this is happening to him, that Joe is being so kind and careful when Nicky had thought he was to be ravaged in his marriage bed by his husband tonight. Instead he has a gorgeous, warm-hearted Lord tending to his wounds and speaking to him like Nicky is _worth_ his kindness, and it is enough for Nicky to feel as if he is unravelling.

The first tear that rolls down his cheek is silent, but Nicky cannot stop the trembling in his hands. Joe looks up at him, and his expression is devastated when he sees Nicky’s tears. 

“Nicolò,” he says, sounding like Nicky has torn his heart in two, “what is the matter? Have I hurt you?”

Nicky shakes his head, and now he cannot contain his sobbing. He rasps in a painful breath and withdraws his hands from Joe’s to cover his face, flinching as his wedding ring presses against his cheek. The reminder is like a dagger to his side, a mortal wound that enforces the fact that this respite is only finite, that he is only to be his Lord’s for this night, and this night only, and the thought rips a strangled cry from his throat. 

“Nicolò, please,” Joe says, reaching for him. Nicky cannot help but sway into his touch, unable to resist the warmth the man radiates, and sobs as Joe takes him into his arms. Joe makes a pained sound, and manoeuvres the basin of water to the floor so he can pull Nicky closer to his side, guiding Nicky’s face to his shoulder. 

Nicky cannot form words around his crying, his breaths coming too fast and too frantic, but Joe seems to somehow understand. He just holds Nicky close, stroking soothing hands down his back, supporting him quietly. Nicky can only cling to him, sobbing his pain into Joe’s shoulder, all of the dread and fear he has been keeping inside for the past month flooding out of him in a rush of tears. He never wants to leave Joe’s warm embrace, but the knowledge that he must, makes the tears only come faster.

~~~

When Nicky wakes, it is to warmth underneath his cheek, and fingers in his hair. He shifts, murmuring happily at the pleasant sensation across his scalp, and turns his face upwards so he can see whose lap he is laying in. He blinks sleepily up at the handsome bearded man who smiles down at him.

“Hello again,” Joe says, and Nicky’s eyes go huge with horror as the ramifications of his position penetrates his sleep fogged brain. He bolts upright, scrambling backwards, and Joe has to dive forward to catch his wrist lest he fall from his seat. 

“Mr Lord—” Nicky croaks, paralysed with embarrassment, “I am so sorry, I did not mean to—” He cannot believe he had fallen asleep on Joe after crying on him. He is _mortified._

But Joe only laughs, and it is not a mean one, but a lovely one, a laugh that makes Nicky’s heart beat faster in his chest and his cheeks flush pink. “Do not apologise for using me as your pillow,” he says, eyes dancing in the firelight, “for I quite enjoyed it. You needed the rest, Nicolò, you have had a trying night. And please, call me Joe, I insist.”

“I couldn’t presume to,” Nicky tries, thoroughly off-kilter at this entire situation, but Joe just shakes his head.

“It would please me greatly,” Joe says. His grip on Nicky’s wrist remains, but it is gentle, and Nicky cannot help but shiver pleasantly as his thumb swipes gently over Nicky’s skin. “Please, Nicolò.”

His plea makes Nicky’s face flush further, and Joe’s eyes are so earnest and bright that Nicky cannot refuse him. He licks his lips and lowers his gaze behind his lashes, looking away shyly as he says quietly, like a secret: “Joe.”

Joe lets out a breath. “Thank you,” he says, and Nicky looks back up at him just in time to see the beautiful smile stretch across his face, and Nicky is _lost._

“Nicky,” he whispers, clearing his throat and then saying it louder. “Nicky. My friends—my little sister, she calls me Nicky.”

And if he thought Joe’s smile before was beautiful, it is nothing like the wide beaming grin that Joe graces him with this time. It’s warmth is akin to the sun on a summer's day, breaking through the morning clouds to bless the earth with life giving golden rays. Nicky does not know how he has lived all these years without it. 

“Nicky,” Joe says, like the two syllables are the most precious thing he owns, Nicky’s name on his lips thrilling Nicky like no one saying his name has before. Nicky finds he cannot look away from Joe’s mouth, his gaze drawn there like a moth to flame, and Joe seems to feel the same, his smile tempering as he gazes back at Nicky. It is suddenly very quiet, but not awkwardly so. The air is charged with something, heavy and electrifying, like the moments before a summer storm. 

Surely now, Nicky thinks, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Surely now Joe will take him. He _wants_ Joe to take him, wants this kind, beautiful man to be the one to claim his first. He knows it like he knows his own name. 

Carefully, he draws his wrist from Joe’s hold, and his fingers go to his shirt buttons again. He looks down as he undoes them one by one, and he can hear Joe’s breath shortening as he slips the fabric over his shoulders, letting it pool around his elbows before it drops from his arms. His naked skin goosebumps even though the fire still crackles in the hearth, and his fingers tremble as he reaches for his belt.

“Nicky,” Joe murmurs, but Nicky cannot look up from where he fumbles with the clasp of his belt. “Nicky,” he says again, more firmly, and hooks a finger underneath Nicky’s chin. He tilts Nicky’s face up to search his expression, his own gentle and understanding. “Do not force yourself,” Joe says, “if you do not wish to lie with me, I will not ask it of you.”

Nicky stares back at him, surprised. “You claimed droit du seigneur, but you do not intend to take me? You do not want me?” He is rendered thoroughly confused. Joe _is_ the strangest Lord he has ever met, and probably ever will meet.

Joe closes his eyes, and for a moment he seems almost pained. But when he opens them again it seems he has come to terms with whatever was plaguing him. “I will not lie to you,” he says carefully, “I do want you. Like I need air. Like plants need rain and sun, like a babe needs their mother’s love. But Nicky, if the thought of letting me touch you causes any strife, if you do not _want_ me as well, then I will leave.”

Nicky frowns, his thoughts and emotions floundering. Joe is far too confusing for him. “I do not want you to leave,” he says. “But I still do not understand. It is your right—you have claimed my first. If you want me, you can have me.”

Joe takes a deep breath. “I have claimed nothing,” he says, “Nicky, something like that—one should only be able to give. And if you do not wish to give it to me, I will not take it.”

Nicky’s eyes widen in understanding, and his hands tremble where they have paused on his belt buckle, but for an entirely different reason this time. “You are giving me a choice,” he says, his voice wavering.

“Yes,” Joe says, sounding relieved. “Yes, Nicky. What happens tonight, between us, is your choice.”

 _A choice._ It has been so long since Nicky has been able to _choose._ Nicky has always been at the mercy of his family, his father’s cold, cruel words and expectations before he had died, his mother’s whims, and in a way, Sofia’s vulnerability, though he could never blame her for what he has been made to do. But Joe, Joe, wonderful, beautiful Joe, who should have the most power over him tonight, who is the Lord over these lands, is letting him _choose._

Nicky’s heart beats double time in his chest, and he looks into Joe’s eyes. “Then I want you to take me,” he whispers. “Please.”

Joe’s pupil’s blow wide, but still he does not act. “You are sure?” He asks, his voice only subtly strained. “You do not feel coerced, or forced?”

Nicky shakes his head. “No, I do not,” he says with more confidence. Joe only stares at him, still searching Nicky’s face, and Nicky feels a spike of impatience. 

It is him who leans forward and presses a kiss to Joe’s mouth, his nose bumping against Joe’s cheek and Joe’s beard brushing against his skin. The contact sends a shock of heat down Nicky’s spine, pleasurable and exciting, but he pulls back when Joe does not respond, stomach falling to his feet. Does Joe not want him?

“Joe?” He asks, the name wavering as it leaves his lips, but then he gasps as Joe pulls him closer and seals their mouths together again. All of Nicky’s nerve endings alight at the kiss in a constellation of delight, and he moans as Joe tilts his head to a better angle and licks across his lips.

Nicky has been kissed before. Only hours ago, at the altar, with Sir Williams’ rough hands gripping his hair and neck, trapping him in as the other man had devoured his mouth after their vows had been said. Sir Williams had tasted of sour wine and pungent cheese, and Nicky had stood still and wooden, fighting the urge to cry as his fate was sealed. This kiss is nothing like that. Joe’s mouth is soft and slick and warm, and his tongue is gentle as it slips inside Nicky’s mouth, tangling with Nicky’s. He tastes like sweet peppermint and tangerines, and as he kisses Nicky, Nicky’s entire body lights up with pleasure. 

Joe’s hands are cupping his face, but as their kissing continues they smooth down over his neck and shoulders, pressing Nicky back into the cushions behind him. Nicky lays back willingly, letting his thighs fall open so Joe can settle between them, the man leaning over him, breaking their kiss so they can both catch their breaths.

“Nicky,” Joe murmurs, touching Nicky’s slick lower lip with a thumb. He looks as if he has been gifted something so amazing that he’s not quite sure what to do with it. Nicky smiles tentatively up at him, and draws him back into another kiss, craving the taste of Joe again on his tongue. He moans as Joe tugs at his lower lip with his teeth and then sucks on it, and a coil of heat and want is beginning to form in his stomach, between his legs. 

Joe’s lips leave his only to drop a kiss to the side of his mouth, over his beauty spot, and Nicky shivers as Joe dips lower, peppering kisses over his chin and then under his jaw. He tips his head back and lets out a sound he didn’t even know he could make when Joe latches onto a patch of skin and _sucks._

At first it stings a little, and then becomes a deep tender ache that makes Nicky squirm under Joe, panting as he feels himself harden further between his thighs. Joe sucks until Nicky’s toes are curling and Nicky is sure that there is to be a dark bruise, and he thrills at the thought that he will wear Joe’s mark for days. 

“Did you like that?” Joe asks him, voice a deep, velvet husk, and Nicky nods, too breathless to speak. Joe grins, his eyes dark and heavy and full of promise, before diving back down and selecting another spot on Nicky’s neck that makes him arch and moan, his fingernails digging into Joe’s shoulders. Nicky never knew his throat could be so sensitive, but Joe is awakening many things inside of him that he thought he was never capable of feeling. 

Joe bites and sucks at Nicky’s neck for what feels like only moments, but in reality must be much longer, because when he makes his way down to Nicky’s collarbones Nicky’s entire throat feels tender and sore, aching in time with his pulse. He’s fully hard in his pants now, and from the hard line pressing into his hip, Joe is in the same situation. The feel of him has Nicky desperate, for what, he’s not sure, but he just knows that he wants _more._

 _“Oh,”_ he gasps as Joe leaves another mark high on his chest and then licks over one of his nipples. “Joe,” he squeaks as Joe rubs his beard over it, grinning up at him, before ducking down and drawing the pink nub into his mouth. Nicky arches at the wet, pulling sensation as he sucks, eyes wide as he stares at the ceiling. He didn’t think a man’s nipples could inspire so much pleasure, but he finds himself writhing as Joe tugs at it gently with his teeth and then laps over it with the flat of his tongue, almost worshiping it in his mouth. 

“Sensitive,” Joe says thoughtfully against his skin, and Nicky’s panting now, head spinning with desire. Joe plucks at his other nipple with his fingers and Nicky jolts, whining, and he can feel his cock beginning to leak into his underthings.

“Joe,” he moans, fingers tangling into Joe’s thick dark curls on his head, _“please,”_ he begs, rolling his hips up into Joe’s. It’s Joe’s turn to groan this time, pressing down with his body to pin Nicky securely against the cushions below. 

“Shh,” he says, “let me take care of you, Nicky.” He leans down to kiss Nicky again, passionate and full of heat, leaving Nicky dazed as he sits back up. He cups Nicky’s flushed cheek fondly for a moment, swiping his thumb over Nicky’s beauty spot, before he reaches down for Nicky’s belt buckle. He undoes it with steady hands and then unlaces Nicky’s pants, drawing them down over Nicky’s hips as he moves down the chaise lounge, pulling them off Nicky’s legs, peppering kisses over Nicky’s skin as he goes. 

“You are so beautiful,” Joe says as he gazes down at Nicky. Nicky stares at him, kiss swollen mouth open and panting, eyes half-lidded, beginning to squirm as Joe rakes his gaze over his almost naked body. It’s nothing like Sir Williams’ awful possessive looks, but instead something more worshipping, like Joe is in awe of him, and it makes Nicky both uncomfortable and excited. He tries to cover himself with his hands, embarrassed at the blatant evidence of his desire between his legs, bulging in his underwear, but Joe grabs his wrists and prevents him.

“You are _lovely,”_ Joe tells him, “you should not want to hide yourself from me. Nicky, you are the moon made in flesh, Allah did not know the mistake he made when he sent your divine form to this earth, but now he must surely see that he has deprived himself of your presence.”

Nicky doesn’t know how to respond to such words. He can only stare back at Joe, dumbfounded, who looks down at him with such affection in his eyes that Nicky thinks he could take flight with the feeling of it. 

Joe just smiles again, his eyes crinkling at their corners, and swoops down to capture Nicky’s mouth with his. Then he makes his way down Nicky’s body again, taking his time to suck more marks into Nicky’s collarbones, and to tease at his nipples, before nuzzling his way down Nicky’s stomach, leaving a trail of gentle beard burn in his wake. 

“Oh god,” Nicky whispers as Joe drops a kiss on one of his hipbones, and he covers his mouth with his own hands as Joe slips his fingers underneath his underwear and draws them slowly down over Nicky’s aching cock, freeing the length of him so it lays against his skin, swollen and red and wanton. 

“Pretty all over,” Joe tells him, and Nicky sucks in a hitching breath, face on fire as Joe ducks down to press a kiss to the head of his cock. He lets out a surprised cry into his bandages palms at the feeling of Joe’s mouth on him, and then settles in half relief, half in disappointment when Joe detours to his thigh, drawing Nicky’s leg up by a firm hand under his knee to bracket Joe’s head. His other leg dangles off the long chaise lounge, and Joe sucks yet even more marks into the delicate skin of Nicky’s inner thigh, drawing blood to the surface and making Nicky moan and squirm. 

And when he is done marking Nicky’s thigh with bites and bruises he rubs his beard over the purpling marks, watching as Nicky whines and trembles, his fingers digging into his own cheeks to try and contain his cries. It is a _lot_ of sensation, a heady mixture of pain and pleasure, and Nicky could easily lose his mind to it. But it is quickly becoming too much, and when Joe bites into his other thigh Nicky whimpers, hips hitching as his cock spills more pearly precum from it swollen red tip.

Joe takes pity on him, leaving Nicky’s sore inner thighs to lick up the crease of Nicky’s groin. It tickles, and Nicky can’t help but giggle underneath his own hands, stifling the noise, and Joe’s eyes flash wickedly up at him. 

“Don’t hide your voice from me,” Joe says, again infuriatingly rubbing his beard in short circles over Nicky’s hipbone. “Please. I would love to hear all your noises, Nicky.”

Nicky’s chest is heaving, and he’s so sure if he takes his hands away from his mouth, then only embarrassing high pitched sounds are going to emerge, but he cannot deny Joe anything. Instead he reaches down to tangle his fingers in Joe’s curls, and Joe smiles at him, and seemingly in reward, licks over Nicky’s cock.

Nicky _shouts,_ hips arching upwards as Joe fits his mouth over the head of his cock and begins to suck. Stars explode behind his eyelids as Joe pins him back down with strong hands so Nicky cannot choke him. Nicky tips his head back, whining to the ceiling as Joe swallows him down his throat, and Nicky is sure he is going to _die,_ Joe’s mouth is hot and tight and wet and entirely _too much,_ but then Joe starts to bob his head as he sucks and Nicky goes lightheaded, mouth gaping open, his heels skidding over the carpet and rich fabric of the chaise lounge as he whines desperately. 

Joe is relentless with his mouth, the wet sounds of him sucking and slurping at Nicky making Nicky’s thighs tremble, and the tightening coil in Nicky’s stomach and balls threatens to reach a breaking point. He tries to warn Joe but all he can do is babble nonsense, his fingers tugging at Joe’s hair, his hips twitching futilely in Joe’s hold. “Joe—” he manages to finally gasp, but then Joe does something particularly clever with his tongue and Nicky wails as he comes, an intense wave of pleasure cresting over him as Joe skillfully pulls his orgasm from him. 

It doesn’t seem that Joe minds that Nicky is spilling into his mouth. He only makes a pleased sound, working at Nicky’s cock gently with his tongue as Nicky shakes through his release, Nicky’s limbs twitching before going limp as he collapses back. He whimpers as Joe lets him fall from his lips, his cock spent and oversensitive. 

“How do you feel?” Joe asks, and Nicky peeks at him through his lashes, still unable to form words. He’s tingly all over, and he thinks his fingers and toes have gone numb with the force of his orgasm. He just makes a dazed noise, and Joe smiles like a satisfied cat at him, licking his swollen and spit-slick lips.

Joe crawls his way back up Nicky’s sprawled body, tweaking one of Nicky’s nipples as he goes, like he cannot help himself. He licks into Nicky’s lax mouth, sharing the taste of Nicky with him, and Nicky finds he doesn’t mind the taste, doesn’t mind the flavour of his own body if it is on Joe’s tongue. 

“Do you think you can stand?” Joe asks him, and Nicky makes an unsure noise. “I would like to thoroughly deflower you in a bed,” he continues, sitting up, running his fingers lightly over Nicky’s heaving chest. “You will look positively delightful spread over my sheets, all pink and flushed like you are now.”

Nicky might go a little pinker at Joe’s words, but he sits up at Joe’s urging, realising suddenly that he is very naked, and Joe is decidedly very _not_ naked. He goes even redder, but Joe only helps him stand on his weak legs and leads him further into his rooms. 

Nick gets laid out gently in the middle of Joe’s bed, surrounded by luxurious pillows and blankets. He watches with rapt attention as Joe strips efficiently at the foot of the bed, revealing more lovely bronze skin to Nicky’s greedy gaze, his broad, strong shoulders and chest dusted with dark hair, his long, sturdy legs and heavy arousal between them. Nicky’s eyes catch on his erection and do not leave, and he finds himself marvelling at the girth of it, wondering if it could even _fit_ inside of him. 

Joe climbs up onto the bed to join him, kneeling between Nicky’s legs and petting Nicky’s hickey littered thighs. “Do you still want to continue?” He asks, like his cock isn’t an angry red and his eyes aren’t dark with arousal. 

What a silly question. “Yes, please,” Nicky says, reaching out. His hands land on Joe’s shoulders and slide down onto his chest, his fingers exploring the lines of muscle and the coarse texture of Joe’s chest hair. Joe makes a quiet noise as he brushes over a brown nipple, and Nicky looks up to Joe’s face to see Joe staring intently at him, eyes glittering in the candlelight. 

Gathering up Nicky’s hands, Joe drops tender kisses over his knuckles, his grip careful where the bandages are wrapped. “If I do anything you do not like,” he says, “you will tell me, Nicky. Promise me you will.”

Nicky nods, breathless from the serious expression Joe is wearing on his handsome face. “I will,” he says, swallowing nervously as Joe smiles at him and then reaches for the wooden nightstand at the side of the bed. 

There’s a small pot of some kind of oil that Joe scoops up and unscrews the lid of, dipping his fingers into the slick. He coats them liberally before pressing one of Nicky’s legs back against his chest, spreading his other thigh wide.

“This might feel a little uncomfortable at first,” Joe tells him, “but it will get better. I promise.”

Nicky bites his lower lip but nods, his heart rabbiting in his chest. He’s scared but he trusts Joe, trusts his gentle hands and kind eyes, and tells himself to relax.

At the first touch over Nicky’s hole Nicky shivers, stomach twisting, but he doesn’t struggle as Joe strokes over the tightly furled muscle, watching Nicky’s face carefully. And then Joe presses a finger in and Nicky’s eyebrows pinch together, the slick slide of the digit inside him wholly unfamiliar. It’s not quite uncomfortable, but it’s not exactly _nice_ either.

Joe slowly thrusts his finger inside Nicky a few times before adding another, and this time Nicky gasps at the stretch, moaning as Joe sinks both of them inside of him to the knuckle. This feels better, he thinks, the pressure pleasant against his inner walls. His cock is filling again against his lower stomach, and he lazily presses his hips into the penetration, shivering. 

“Good?” Joe asks him, voice husky as he fucks Nicky gently with his fingers. 

“Yes,” Nicky breathes, feeling arousal pool in his stomach. “More, please,” he asks. 

Joe’s eyes go darker and he nods, pulling his fingers out and pressing three of them against Nicky’s pucker. He circles Nicky’s hole once, teasing, and Nicky whines, wriggling impatiently, before tossing his head back and keening as Joe stretches him open with three fingers. He’s suddenly _full,_ and Nicky is in love with the feeling, in love with having some of Joe inside of him, the slow, slick slide and careful breach of his body. 

“Oh,” he moans, rolling his hips languidly, and then he gasps _“oh,”_ as Joe’s fingers brush against a spot deep inside that makes all his nerve endings spark and a flash of white hot heat sear its way up his spine. 

“There we go,” Joe says, sounding pleased as Nicky shivers through the sensation. 

“What was that?” Nicky asks, wide eyed and already craving the burst of pleasure again. Joe only smiles at him, angling the next thrust of his fingers so the pads of them rub over that spot and Nicky _mewls,_ cock jumping between his thighs, completely hard and swollen again. 

For a while Joe entertains himself by massaging over that spot until Nicky is trembling all over, his erection leaking again on his stomach, his toes curling and hands fisted in the sheets. Nicky doesn’t know when he’d started to beg, but all he can hear is his own voice, strained and high and pleading, the sounds of Joe’s fingers squelching into him, Joe’s own low murmurs of praise and adoration. 

_“Please,”_ Nicky cries, tossing his head back. He thinks he might go insane with how Joe is so expertly playing his body, he both wants more but doesn’t want what Joe is doing to him to stop, no, he just wants _Joe,_ all of him, anything that Joe is willing to give him. “Joe, please, _please,_ I’m ready, take me, take me.” If Joe doesn’t take him soon Nicky is sure that he is going to burn up, that there will be nothing left of him except some singed sheets where he used to lay.

Joe groans, low and wanting, his grip on the back of Nicky’s knee tightening. “As you wish,” he says, and reaches for the jar of oil again. Instead of dipping his fingers into it, he picks it up and tips it between Nicky’s thighs. Nicky gasps as the cool liquid spills over his skin, coating his cock and balls and dripping between his cheeks, creating a slick mess. The added oil makes the sounds of Joe’s fingers fucking into him louder, wet and obscene, and Nicky whimpers at the loss as Joe pulls them out of him, clenching down to try and keep them inside.

“Shh, you’ll be full again soon enough,” Joe tells him, grabbing his own cock for the first time and groaning as he fists it once. Then he hauls Nicky’s hips up onto his thighs, rubbing his erection through the mess he’s created between Nicky’s legs, slicking himself up. Nicky moans at the feeling of Joe’s cock against his, biting his lip and squirming eagerly. If he wasn’t so pleasure-crazed and drunk on Joe’s touch he would be ashamed of how he is acting, but he couldn't care less right now. All he wants is Joe, and Joe’s cock inside of him, stretching him wide and claiming Nicky for his own.

And then something blunt and hot is pressing against his hole, and Nicky’s eyes pop open from where they’d fallen shut so he can watch Joe’s expression as Joe’s cock forges forward. For a second Nicky thinks that it might not fit; it feels impossibly larger than Joe’s fingers, nudging up against his rim and pushing and pushing but not quite breaching him, but then Joe rolls his hips and Nicky’s rim gives, and Nicky arches as Joe slides in past the guarding muscle.

The stretch is _amazing,_ spreading him wide and open and vulnerable. Nicky gasps fast and shallowly, gulping down air as Joe comes to a rest, his hands trembling where they’re holding Nicky’s legs apart. 

“Allah, you’re so _tight,”_ Joe groans, breath heavy. “Nicky, Nicky, look at me, is this good?”

Nicky doesn’t think he can focus, but somehow he does on Joe’s face, and he nods. _“More,”_ he demands, pushing his hips into the penetration, and keens as Joe slides in an inch further. “Oh, yes, _more,_ please, Joe, it feels—you feel— _oh.”_

Thankfully, Joe sounds just as undone as Nicky, panting as he carefully rolls his hips, delving deeper into Nicky with every gentle thrust, until he’s settled as far as he can go, balls seated flush against Nicky’s ass, cock throbbing in time with his pulse. Nicky can _feel_ it, feel Joe’s heartbeat inside of him, and he knows he could easily get addicted to the feeling. The penetration _aches,_ but it’s a good pain, and all he wants is _more._

“Nicky,” Joe is saying, “Nicky, love, how are you, have I hurt you?” And Nicky realises that there are tears in his own eyes, but they’re _good_ tears, and he wraps one of his legs around Joe’s waist and yanks Joe down by his shoulders to kiss him.

Joe moans as the movement jostles his cock inside of Nicky, and Nicky moans back, his mouth sloppy on Joe’s, tongue clumsy as their mouths meet and part and meet again. “More,” Nicky breathes against Joe’s lips, teeth snagging on Joe’s bottom lip, and Joe’s hips twitch like he can’t control them.

And Joe gives him more. He pulls his hips back and then delves forward again, burying himself in Nicky’s body, groaning at the tight, hot clutch of him. Nicky grasps desperately at Joe’s shoulders, both of his legs wrapped around Joe’s hips now, and tosses his head back as Joe sets a steady rhythm, his cock piercing Nicky over and over, the slick drag of his cock inside of Nicky driving him insane.

Nicky doesn’t think he will ever be able to reach this height of pleasure again. With every thrust he sees stars burst across his vision, and Joe’s body moving over his is so wildly maddening, every sound of their voices crescendoing together, every kiss they share and every touch on each other urging him higher and higher. Joe’s careful thrusts into him soon start to devolve into something harder, faster and more urgent, the sounds of their lovemaking loud and obscene in Joe’s chambers. They’re both sweating, hands skidding over each other’s bodies, Nicky clutching desperately at Joe’s shoulders and Joe greedily feeling over his heaving sides and chest, leaning down to suck and bite at his nipples. Nicky is _wailing_ now, head thrown back and eyes unseeing as Joe drives into him, cock reaching deeper than he thought was ever possible, brushing over the spot inside Nicky that has the tears in his eyes spilling over.

“Gorgeous, Nicky, you’re so—fuck, _Nicky.”_ Nicky is not even sure what Joe is saying, but he loves the sound of Joe’s voice, wrecked and hoarse. He digs his heels into Joe’s back to urge him faster, frantic as pleasure wells in his stomach, his cock leaking copiously over his own skin. Joe kisses him again, rough and clumsy and wet, his beard rubbing against the already reddened skin around Nicky’s mouth, his fingers bruisingly tight around Nicky’s hips, his ass. And then he wraps a hand around Nicky’s aching cock, fists it once, twice, and Nicky _screams_ as he comes, body seizing and vision whiting out.

He’s vaguely aware of Joe hunching over him, and the sensation of Joe’s cock swelling and then spilling deep inside of him has Nicky’s eyes roll up into the back of his head. His spine arches and every muscle quivers as he clenches down on Joe’s cock, milking every last drop of release from him as he shoots his own up over his stomach and chest. 

For a moment, all Nicky knows is Joe. He is all around him, inside of him, filling up all the empty spots of Nicky’s existence with his own, until they are both one perfect, complete being. Nicky lingers in that place, quiet and wonderful and blissful, until he inevitably leaves, slipping back down to earth, gasping for air as Joe collapses over him.

“Nicky,” Joe is saying, holding Nicky’s face in his palms. “Nicky?”

“Joe,” Nicky says, thinks he says, he’s not quite sure about anything at the moment, he’s dazed and entirely useless, body limp and nerveless. He is floating on a cloud of euphoria, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever come back down.

Joe presses a kiss to the side of his lips. “I’m going to pull out now,” he says, and Nicky’s brows tick together as Joe carefully slides out of him, a rush of cum following his cock, making Nicky squirm weakly. He feels so _empty_ without Joe filling him up, and he whimpers, hands twitching where they’d fallen either side of his head, wanting to reach out for Joe.

But Joe only kisses him again, rolling to the side. He disappears from Nicky’s line of sight and Nicky whines, but then Joe is back again, and he’s spreading Nicky’s thighs apart. Sighing happily, Nicky lets him, half hoping that Joe is going to slide home inside of him again, but Joe only wipes a damp cloth over his sensitive skin, swiping gently over his spent cock and puffy, used hole, cleaning up the mess between his legs. He maneuvers Nicky’s body gently, pulling layers of blankets over up over him, and lies behind him, pulling Nicky’s body close to his, Nicky’s back against his chest.

A kiss is pressed into the back of Nicky’s neck, a soft beard brushing over his nape. “Sleep, my love,” Joe whispers, “I have you.”

Nicky sleeps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> Next chapter, the morning after, and Joe has to give Nicky back to Sir Williams.


	3. part three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go my peeps. <3 Some smut, and then ~drama~.
> 
>  **Warnings/spoilers:** there have been some tags added as there is a not too graphic death of an OC. Three guesses on who ;)

Nicky wakes, and he is alone.

The sheets beside him are cold, Joe’s body heat long gone from them. Nicky props himself up on his elbows, blinking blearily around the room, but there is no sign of Joe either. There is a single candle lit, throwing long, flickering shadows across the walls, and through the gap in the heavy drapes over the window he can see it is not yet dawn, the sky grey and dark, with only a hint of the light to come. 

He finds that he is— _sore._ In his lower back, hips and ass there is an ache, like a muscle overused, and his inner thighs are tender as they rub against each other. When he lifts the rich bedspread he can see they’re covered in bruises the approximate size of Joe’s mouth against his skin, and his flesh is red where Joe had rubbed his beard up against him. He touches his neck and collarbones and finds them much the same, and wonders at the slow, satisfied tug of arousal he feels in his stomach when he realises that Joe has marked him with his touch. He revels in pressing his fingers into them, and feeling the lingering tenderness that reminds him of Joe between the splay of his thighs, breath heavy as he sucked marks into Nicky’s skin.

He drops his hand from his throat and the glint of his ring catches his eye, and he swallows against a rising of sickening dismay that crawls up his throat. His skin will heal, but the metal wrapped curelly around his finger will not disappear with time. Tears burn in his eyes; why did he sleep? Why did he slumber the hours away when he could have been spending them with Joe, basking in his warm presence and warmer laughter and his passionate, glorious kisses? 

He wants to sob at the unfairness of this all, but he hears voices nearing, and he is distracted from his grief. 

“—damn it all to the depths of hell, Andy, I do not care about the law—” That is Joe, his voice loud with anger.

“—you do,” a woman replies, and Nicky recognises her voice from the night before. Andromache, Joe had called her. Andy. “The only reason we have this chance is because of it!”

Joe says something back to her, but his voice has lowered. Nicky only catches snippets of the conversation.

“—we cannot be sure this will even work—” and “—if he gets caught in the crossfire—” from Joe, and “—men like him are entirely predictable—” and “— _think,_ Joe, not with your heart but with your _head—”_ from Andy. 

It is all very confusing to Nicky. Joe sounds agitated, but by the end of the conversation Nicky thinks he hears resignation and acceptance in his voice. There are the sounds of doors closing and opening, and Nicky sits up properly when the door to Joe’s private bed chamber opens, and Joe appears in the doorway with a tray of food in his hands.

He sees Nicky awake, and the worry in his expression is gone in a blink of an eye as he smiles. “I had hoped to wake you with a surprise breakfast in bed,” he says, approaching.

Nicky knows that Joe is a strange lord, but bringing in food himself to one of his subjects in his own bed seems absurd to Nicky. There must be something of that thought showing on his face, because when Joe sits on the edge of the bed and places the tray down, there is a small frown marring his lovely eyebrows.

“How do you feel? I did not hurt you, Nicky?” He asks, sounding distraught. “Please do not tell me otherwise to spare my feelings.”

Nicky shakes his head vehemently. “You did not hurt me, My Lord. Not at all.”

A relieved smile graces Joe’s lips, but he looks a little sad as well. “Back to My Lord so soon?” He says.

Nicky swallows, dropping his gaze. “You will be My Lord again soon enough,” he manages to choke out. “I cannot keep calling you by your name. It would be improper. So I should start now, to become used to it.”

Joe reaches out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind Nicky’s ear. His fingers linger across the shell of it, sending goosebumps rippling across Nicky’s skin. “Nicky,” he murmurs, “I will always be Joe to you.”

The urge to sob is back again, but Nicky forces it down. He wants to say that it is unfair, that Joe cannot say these things when Nicky must go back to his husband, but he finds he cannot say the words. He wants to believe the pretty lie Joe has told him. And maybe Joe will always be Joe to Nicky, but only in the quiet, secret places of Nicky’s heart, and never aloud where he could be accused of betraying his husband.

“When must I return?” Nicky asks, choking the words out.

Joe inhales shakily. His fingers brush down the side of Nicky’s face, to cup his cheek, his thumb swiping gently over Nicky’s beauty spot. “After dawn.”

Nicky closes his eyes. Not long enough. Never long enough. Oh, why did he fall asleep? “Then we have time then,” he says, opening his eyes again.

“Nicky—” Joe begins, but Nicky cuts him off by leaning forward and kissing him desperately. Joe makes a quiet sound against his lips, but then kisses him back, soft and slow and sweet. Nicky whimpers, pulling himself towards Joe, slinging his arms around Joe’s shoulders and trying to climb into his lap.

“You called me _my love,_ before,” Nicky says against Joe’s mouth. Joe’s hands still on his hips.

“I thought you were too close to slumber to hear me,” Joe says.

“Call me it again?” Nicky begs, and Joe kisses him deeply, laying Nicky back down on the bed. He looks down at Nicky, his dark, handsome eyes tender, and Nicky can almost believe him when Joe says, _“my love.”_

Nicky moans and wraps his limbs around Joe, uncaring that he is naked and Joe is fully clothed. The time for shyness is long gone; Joe has seen all of him, and they have no time to waste on Nicky’s insecurities. Joe’s body over his and his mouth on Nicky’s has his cock filling between his thighs, and when Joe presses close Nicky can feel an answering hardness against his hip.

“Again?” Nicky gasps as Joe kisses down his chin. “Please.”

Joe pulls back to hover over him. “You are not too sore?” He asks, searching Nicky’s expression. “I have bruised you all over. I should not have been so rough with you.”

Nicky snorts. “I am not a flower,” he says, “and I am sore, but I find that I—that I like it.” He flushes red at the confession. “Please, have me again, if it would please you.”

Joe groans, pressing his forehead against Nicky’s. He looks almost pained. “Nicky,” he says, “of course it would please me to take you. Last night was—it was indescribable. But would it please you?”

Nicky stares up at him, incredulous. 

Joe laughs lightly. “I see that I am being stupid,” he says, and kisses Nicky again. He sits up to quickly shed his shirt, and Nicky runs his hands up Joe’s chest, fingers carding through his chest hair. His ring glints in the low light but he ignores it, ignores the sharp, anxious jab in his chest when he sees it.

“How are your hands?” Joe asks, laying his over Nicky’s to run his fingers gently over the bandages.

“They are fine,” Nicky says, impatient. “You worry far too much.”

“For you, never enough,” Joe says, and Nicky swallows against a welling of emotion, and instead of crying he pulls Joe back down to kiss him. He gets his hands in Joe’s curls as their tongues tangle, soft and wet against each other’s, and then yelps when he finds his world spinning. He ends up straddling Joe’s hips, Joe looking up at him with heavy bedroom eyes from where he’s managed to maneuver them lengthwise on the bed, his head on a pillow. The tray of food rattles at their movements, forgotten to the side. 

This is different than last night. Nicky puts his hands on Joe’s chest, tentative, unsure of what he is to do.

“Do whatever you desire,” Joe tells him, and Nicky flushes pink. Carefully, he rolls his hips, biting his lip when he feels the bulge of Joe’s cock rub against his ass. Joe groans, his fingers tightening over the bruises he’d left already on Nicky’s hips last night. The tender spots on the insides of Nicky’s thighs rub against Joe as he moves, sending sparks of pleasure up Nicky’s spine.

“That’s it, dearest,” Joe says, and Nicky’s cock throbs at the endearment. He leans down to kiss Joe again, rubbing his face over Joe’s beard to feel the scratch of it against his skin. If he is to go back to his husband, he will gather all the marks from Joe that he can, so at least for a while he won’t only just have the memories of their time together.

He wants to leave his own marks, as well. He nuzzles his way down to Joe’s throat, and carefully seals his lips over Joe’s adam’s apple, sucking gently. 

Joe moans, his hands sliding down Nicky’s body to cup his ass, squeezing. Nicky’s hips stutter as his fingers brush over Nicky’s hole, where he is still slick and open and swollen from last night. Joe rubs there, testing, as Nicky gasps against his throat.

“How does that feel?” He rumbles.

“Good,” Nicky says, pushing back into the teasing touch. He wants them _in_ him, inside of him, wants them filling up the emptiness he feels inside. “Please,” he says again, rolling his hips. “I want it.”

Joe swears something in another language. “Need more oil,” he says, and Nicky sits up, looking around desperately. The jar from last night is empty; Joe had poured the entirety over him, but there is a bowl of olive oil on the tray Joe had brought in, to soften and flavour the bread, even though it looks like the bread is of a high quality and doesn’t need it. Nicky’s glad of it all the same as he grabs it off the tray to offer to Joe.

“Will this do?” Nicky asks, and Joe takes it from him. 

“Yes, it will,” Joe says, sounding glad. Nicky works at the laces of his pants as Joe slicks his fingers, and Nicky gets his hand around Joe’s hard cock as Joe’s fingers find his entrance again. Joe groans as Nicky fists at his shaft, but his eyes are attentive on Nicky’s face as he sinks an oiled finger into him. 

Nicky arches, his mouth dropping open into a small o at the penetration. He feels even more sensitive than last night, when Joe had taken his virginity; he feels used, and raw, but his body opens easily, blooming under Joe’s touch. He tries his best to carefully stroke Joe’s cock, hard and tempting in his hand, but the sensation of Joe slipping two fingers, then three, into him in quick succession, is too distracting. His own cock stands proud against his belly, bobbing with the movement of his hips, smearing pearly precum over his own stomach. 

“My Lord— _Joe,_ please,” he whimpers.

“Patience, my love,” Joe murmurs, but he is slipping his fingers free of the tight clutch of Nicky’s body, and gripping Nicky’s hip to guide him. With Joe’s urging Nicky rises up, shuffles down the bed only slightly, and lowers himself down. But he is too hasty in his eagerness, and the hot, blunt head of Joe’s cock catches on his rim then slides past it, and Nicky whines at the deprivation.

Joe’s chuckle is soft and fond. “Patience,” he says again, as Nicky lifts himself up. “Slowly,” he says, steadying his own cock at the base. Nicky bites his lip in concentration as he carefully rolls his hips down, and throws his head back as Joe’s cock sinks into him, spearing him open inch by inch as he takes Joe inside of him yet again. 

“That’s it, _ya amar, hayati,_ you are doing so well, taking me beautifully,” Joe says as Nicky shakes and trembles through lowering himself on Joe’s cock, until he is seated on Joe’s thighs, Joe’s cock buried as deep as it can go. Straddling Joe like this, with Nicky’s weight bearing down, makes Joe inside of him feel different than last night, the angle not the same but just as pleasurable. Nicky rests for a moment, just enjoying the sensation of being full again, of the intimacy of feeling Joe’s pulse inside of him, like he can feel Joe’s heart. The stretch is sore, but a good kind of ache, tingling warmth through every muscle.

“Nicky,” Joe says, and Nicky looks down at him to see his eyes wide and worshipping, and feels Joe’s hands trembling minutely against his hips. “Take mercy on me,” he pleads, “as much as I love the feeling of you around me, I cannot take this stillness much longer—I may lose my mind to madness.”

Nicky smiles, and tentatively lifts himself up on his thighs again. The drag of Joe’s cock inside of him makes him gasp, and he sinks down quickly, moaning as the head of Joe’s cock grazes against that spot inside of him that has stars flashing across his vision. Joe lets him have a few of the short, stuttering rise and falls, before his hands cup Nicky’s ass to guide him into something steadier, lifting him higher so Joe’s cock almost falls from his body, and then letting him drop back down so Nicky can shake and whimper at how deep Joe’s cock reaches inside of him.

Before long Nicky’s breathing is heavy and laboured, his thighs burning as he bounces eagerly in Joe’s lap, moaning and crying out as he fucks himself on Joe’s cock. Joe’s hands wander across his body, trailing across his sides and up his chest to pinch at Nicky’s nipples, to clutch at the back of his neck to draw him down into a messy, sloppy kiss, tongues tangling and teeth nipping. 

And then Joe’s hand finds Nicky’s cock and Nicky wails, the rhythm of his hips stuttering. Joe doesn’t seem to mind this time, instead gasping out endearments as Nicky grinds down, hole clenching and fluttering around him as Nicky chases his release. The tight coil of heat in Nicky’s stomach and balls tightens even further as Joe’s hand, slick and fragrant with olive oil, works at his cock skillfully. 

_“Joe,”_ Nicky sobs, “I—I cannot—”

“Shhh, my love, it is all right,” Joe tells him, voice husky and full of affection that makes Nicky shake. “Come for me,” he says, “Nicky, come.”

And Nicky does, back arching and mouth dropping open soundlessly as his orgasm rips through his body, alighting every nerve ending on it’s path in a fiery blaze of white hot pleasure. His thighs tremble and his toes curl and his cock throbs thick release over his own stomach, and he grasps desperately at Joe’s forearms, knowing if he lets go he may never find his way back down from where he’s found himself, high amongst the clouds of euphoria. 

And then when he finds himself cognizant again, still trembling in the aftermath, he finds Joe staring up at him like he hung the moon and created the stars from nothing, his expression almost painful with how much he holds in his fine, brown eyes. Nicky’s heart flounders and he whimpers, gasping desperately for breath.

“You are so lovely,” Joe tells him, “so divine, perfection in human form.”

Nicky wants to tell him no, that Joe is the one who defies any and every law that keeps humans bound to the earthly plane, but cannot form the words, and then Joe is rolling them over anyway. There is a crash as their movements finally topple the tray of breakfast food onto the floor, but neither of them care as Joe presses Nicky’s thighs back against his chest and ruts into him. 

Nicky is only a feather’s edge away from being too oversensitive, too raw and used and swollen, but he can only whine and mewl as Joe gasps and groans above him, the brow of his line severe as he thrusts desperately. Nicky has to brace himself against the headboard above him so Joe doesn’t send him into it with the power of his hips, his mouth slack and open, pathetic little sounds tumbling from his lips every time Joe bottoms out inside of him. He cannot tear his eyes away from Joe’s face, flushed and tense, Joe’s gaze intent on his own. 

_“Nicky,”_ Joe breathes, swooping down to capture Nicky’s mouth in his own, and his hands tighten like vices around the backs of Nicky’s knees and he can _feel_ Joe’s cock pulse inside of him, and Joe is moaning into Nicky’s mouth as he finds his own release, spilling into Nicky’s core. Nicky moans with Joe, clenching around him, doing his best to milk Joe of every last drop. As Joe collapses he wraps his arms around Joe’s trembling body, his legs falling from Joe’s grip to cradle his hips. Joe peppers weak little kisses against the side of his neck where his head has fallen, catching his breath against Nicky’s skin. His beard tickles and Nicky huffs, unable to stop a smile.

“My love,” Joe murmurs, his hand cupping Nicky’s cheek. He moves so he can kiss Nicky sweetly, tenderly on his lips, and shifts his hips. Nicky hisses at the zing of pain up his spine as Joe withdraws from him, and Joe looks down at him in concern. “Have I harmed you?” He asks, and he sounds so panicked that Nicky’s smile widens that much more. The amount of times Joe has asked him that the past few hours—if Nicky had a coin for every one of them, he would be rich.

“Just sore,” Nicky says.

“I let my desire for you get the better of me,” Joe says, aghast, “I apologise, Nicky—”

“Hush,” Nicky says, and he flushes at the fragrant presumption of _hushing_ his Lord, but he cannot have Joe sounding so guilty. “It is a good kind of sore,” he says, “and I wanted you. Very much.” He flushes further at the confession. “My soreness is just as much my own fault as yours. More so, as I asked for you to have me again.”

“Nicky,” Joe says, still sounding remorseful, but less so.

“You could not hurt me,” Nicky tells him. “I admit, I was… hesitant, at the start, as Sir Williams had made two bodies becoming one sound like a fearful act, but I knew you wouldn’t harm me. And you have proved me correct. Twice now.”

Joe’s eyes had darkened at the mention of Sir Williams. He makes a low, angry sound at the back of his throat, before kissing Nicky again. “I am glad,” he says, “that you trusted me.”

“You are too wonderful not to,” Nicky says, and pushes back the painful emotion that wells in his chest. He wants to stay with this man forever. He wants to get down on his knees and _beg, plead_ for Joe to keep him, to wrap Nicky up in his arms and never, ever let go, but he does not let himself. It is not fair to Joe, for Nicky to ask him for such a thing. One night, and an early morning, that is all that is allowed. Anymore, and laws will be broken, and Joe cannot afford to do that so early in his Lordship. There would be an outcry. There probably already is, at his claiming of droit du seigneur. It is hardly observed anymore, seen almost as barbaric, base. This is all Nicky will be given, and he will take it gladly, and bear the pain of parting himself.

At that moment, Nicky’s stomach growls. Nicky goes pink, and Joe laughs, bright and surprised. “I will fetch a cloth to clean us,” he says, still chuckling, “and then some more breakfast, hm? And this time we will eat it, and not use the food for some other purpose not originally intended.”

It’s a close call, however. Joe feeds Nicky blueberries from a delicate china bowl, and the sight of Nicky’s pink, kiss swollen lips around his fingers bids him to press Nicky back down into the sheets. But all they do is kiss, intertwined together, feeding sweet fruit and honeyed bread from hands to each other’s mouths, until there is a knock at the door, and Nicky’s heart withers as the dawn breaks.

~~~

The carriage ride back to Sir Williams’ estate is quiet. It feels like it should be raining, but the sun is bright and warm as it begins its daily journal across the sky. Nicky feels like he is on his way to his own funeral. In a way, he is.

He wishes that the horses would just keep on galloping, and the sun would pause in the sky, and he and Joe could stay together in this swaying carriage forever, Joe’s hand on his, covering the horrible glint of his wedding ring. But it isn’t to be, and all too soon, they come to a stop.

Nicky takes a deep, shuddering breath. Joe brings Nicky’s hand to his mouth, kisses the knuckles carefully, his soft beard brushing against Nicky’s skin. 

“You said you trusted me,” Joe says, his eyes wide and pleading.

Nicky nods. “Always.”

Joe closes his eyes. “I hope it is not misplaced. Whatever happens, Nicky, just know, that I will never let any harm come to you.”

Nicky’s smile is a small, fragile thing. “Of course,” he murmurs, but it is just to placate Joe’s pain. Joe is the Lord here, yes, but not even he can stop what happens behind closed doors. Nicky suspects Sir Williams will be enraged that he had not been the one to take Nicky’s first. He will not be able to take it out on Lord al-Kaysani, not unless he was brain-addled and practically suicidal, but he will be able to take it out on Nicky. 

“My Lord,” Nicky starts, then corrects, “Joe. Thank you.” He tries to convey everything he feels in his gaze as the handle turns on the carriage door. Joe’s mouth opens, and he begins to speak, but the door swings open and the footman bows.

“My Lord, we have arrived.”

Joe lets out a breath. “Yes,” he says, and stands. He offers a hand to Nicky, and although Nicky wants to do anything else but face what is to come, he is helpless against Joe’s offering. He will never not be able to take Joe’s hand.

Joe steps down first, and helps Nicky as well. Nicky is glad for Joe’s warm grasp, as he’s trembling, and his thighs and between his legs hurt, causing his steps to be unsteady. He looks up as his feet meet the ground, and bites back a gasp of shock.

It seems like the entire county has turned up on Sir Williams’ grounds to see Nicky returned. There is a large crowd of both townspeople, peasants and nobles alike, gathered together outside Sir Williams’ grand mansion, all gawking and silent as they take in the sight of Nicky shying behind Joe, trying to pull the neckline of his shirt higher. He’s more conscious of the marks Joe has given him than he has been all morning, even under the sharp, amused gazes of Joe’s contingency as Joe had led him from his rooms after dawn. They gather behind Joe now, quiet, but ever watchful. 

“Finally!” Sir Williams storms down the grand stairs of his entrance way. He is still in his marriage clothes, fine shirt and coat half unbuttoned, hair asunder and normally handsome face swollen and twisted in rage, flushed an unbecoming shade of red. He snarls at the people gathered around the foot of his steps and they part for him, murmuring behind hands and whispering. He has a naked sword grasped in his hand, and on the last step he stumbles. Nicky is shocked to realise that he is rather _drunk._ Sir Merrick and more of his friends follow him, all with harrowed looks on their faces. None of them look like they have slept. It seems while Nicky has had the best night of his life, they have all suffered their worst.

“Sir Williams,” Joe greets, his voice cold and hard. “Good morning.”

“Good morning!” Sir Williams spits. “Huh! As if! I have spent the night sitting beside what was to be my _marriage_ bed, bemoaning that it is empty of the whore that I had married!”

Nicky’s gaze drops, his mouth clenching tight.

“There is no need for such language,” Joe says. Nicky did not think Joe’s voice so capable of the ice cold tone. “Lower your tone, good Sir. And sheathe your blade. You are in polite company.”

“Polite!” Sir Williams laughs. “Do you mean yourself, _Lord_ al-Kaysani? You can hardly count as _polite_ company, as you have claimed such a barbaric tradition as droit du seigneur, and probably rutted my husband all night long like the disgusting mutt you are!”

There is a loud gasp that travels through the crowd. Joe stiffens in front of Nicky, and Nicky feels the first stirrings of rage underneath his skin. Sir Williams can call him a whore all he wants, but to call Joe such names? There is a shift in the bodies of Joe’s contingency as well, a hardening of shoulders, a fingers brush against weapons at hips. 

“Sir Williams, need I remind you that I am your Lord, and that title demands respect? I would cut you down for that insult if I was a lesser man.” There is something in Joe’s tone that makes Nicky think Joe does wish he was a lesser man. 

“I will respect you when you show me something to respect,” Sir Williams spits, stepping forward, but Sir Merrick grabs his arm and whispers something sharp and pointed in his ear. Joe’s contingency, who have been quiet and still this entire time, had stepped forward when Sir Williams had, and when Nicky glaces at them they all have set, hard faces, their hands on their respective weapons. The tall, pale woman—Andy, Joe had called her, has a particular bloodthirsty glint in her eye that makes Nicky glad that she is at his back, and not facing him down. Quynh, as well, with her lovely golden skin and long straight dark hair, has a cold, ferocious grin on her face that makes him shiver. 

“I— _apologise,”_ Sir Williams snarls out, sounding anything but apologetic. “I have had a trying night, and I wish to take my husband back and retire from this mess. Nicolò, _come here.”_ He points to his feet with his sword, like Nicky is a pet that he can command to heel.

Nicky goes pale. For a moment he feels he might faint. Joe turns to look at him, but Nicky cannot meet his eyes. Like a ghost, numb and resigned, he steps forward out of Joe’s shadow. Every step he takes away from Joe’s warmth makes his heart break a little more, crack upon crack, tears building in his eyes.

But with every step he takes, crossing the divide of gravel that grinds loud under his boots, Sir Williams’ face grows darker and darker. His practically trembles in rage as he takes in Nicky’s dishevelled appearance. There hadn’t been time to bathe before they left the Lord’s manor, so Nicky’s hair is a mess, and he’s sure he smells of certain unsavoury acts and rather strongly of Joe. He’d done his best to pull his shirt collar up but there is no hiding the multitude of bruises and teeth marks scattered over his skin, the beard burn around his mouth, and even though he tries to mask it, he cannot help his limp, the tender way he moves. 

By the time Nicky is within reach, Sir Williams’ face is practically purple, the veins in his eyes stark. He grabs Nicky by his shirt collar and _hauls_ him to his side, uncaring that Nicky stumbles against him. “You little _slut,”_ he hisses in Nicky’s ear, “did you enjoy that barbarian piercing your body with his dirty dog cock last night? Taking what was _mine?”_

Nicky’s shoulders stiffen. Sir Williams’ smells disgusting, of sweat and booze and rancid meat, but that isn’t what offends him so. “Do not call him that,” Nicky says. He’s shaking with pent up fear and _anger,_ and that makes him bold in a way that he was not before. How _dare_ Sir Williams insult Joe. “He is no barbarian. You are.”

Sir Williams hits him with the end of his sword. Nicky cries out as pain blooms across his cheekbone and the crowd explodes in outraged whispers. The noise does not mask the unmistakable sound of a blade being drawn from his scabbard. 

Nicky looks up from where he has fallen to the ground to where Joe stands with his curved sword drawn, his face ignited with rage. Behind him his contingency stand, axes and swords and daggers at the ready. They look like a group of avenging angels, beautiful in their righteous anger. 

Sir Williams barks a laugh. “What do you think you are going to do with those?” He laughs loudly, sounding almost unhinged. “I can treat my husband how I like, you have no power within our marriage!”

Joe steps forward, but Andy grabs his shoulder. He wrenches it out of her hold, but does not advance.

“I cannot stand by and let one of my subjects be abused,” he says. “I challenge you to a duel, Sir Williams. First blood. I win, and you swear on your ancestors and your life as a _‘gentleman’_ and a nobleman of this land _,_ that you will never lay a hand on Nicolò again. You win, and I will never step a foot on your estate again, never interfere with your life or livelihood.”

Sir Merrick is again whispering furiously in Sir Williams’ ear, but Sir William looks incensed enough that he doesn’t hear his friend’s concerns. “I accept,” he says, lifting his sword.

Joe grins, a savage, satisfied thing. 

“Then let us begin.”

~~~

Nicky stands aside, his hand clutching at his bloodied cheek as Joe and Sir Williams ready themselves for their upcoming duel. Nile, the youngest woman of Joe’s contingency, had offered to look at it for him, but he’d refused, too terrified for Joe to let anything distract him from the duel about to begin. The crowd around is restless as both Sir Williams and Joe strip off their outer clothing and limber up. Sir Williams does not look as drunk now, and Nicky wants to give into the urge to bite his fingernails down to their beds.

“Do not worry, Nicolò,” Andy says next to him. “Joe will hand that pissant’s ass to him on a bloody platter.”

“I hope he hands him his head,” Quyhn says happily.

“It is just a fight to the first blood, ladies,” Booker, the only man in Joe’s contingency, points out. “As is the law.” But even he looks hopeful. 

“If things go the way we want them to, it will not be,” Nile whispers, and Nicky stares at her in horror.

“What do you mean?” He whispers fiercely back, terrified for Joe. 

Andy pats his shoulder and he jumps. “Peace, Nicolò,” she says, smiling at him calmly, “all will be well. Trust Joe.”

Nicky looks back to Joe, who looks back at him with his lovely brown eyes, his expression creased with concern. Not for himself, but for Nicky. Nicky stares back at him, incredulous and horrified. He does not want Joe to be hurt because of him. The thought of Joe injured, mortally or no, makes his heart pound and his palms sweat. He pleads with his eyes, _do not do this._

Joe smiles at him, and Nicky has a sudden, insane urge to slap the man. _Think of yourself!_ He wants to yell. _I am nothing compared to you! I am not worth this! Think of_ **_yourself!_ **

One of the local men, trusted amongst the townspeople and nobles, declares both Sir Williams and Joe’s swords fit for the duel. He hands the respective weapons back to their owners and steps back, nodding at both men. Both nod back, raising their swords.

“To first blood!” He yells. “Begin!”

Sir Williams slashes forward with an enraged yell. Nicky’s heart almost stops but Joe just calmly steps aside, sticks a leg out, and lets Sir Williams’ own momentum trip him over it. Sir Williams stumbles down to his knees, gets up, and yelling again, swings his sword back around, slashing. Joe dances out of reach again.

“Is that the best you’ve got?” Joe taunts. “I would have thought that a distinguished gentleman just as yourself would be well versed in swordplay. It seems, however, that you have less grace than that of a newborn child, and the intelligence to match.”

Yelling, Sir Williams charges. Nicky can’t help the rise of his blood pressure, but he’s beginning to realise that Sir Williams is well and truly outmatched. Joe hasn’t even lifted his sword yet, and there is no sweat upon his brow as he spins and steps gracefully around Sir William’s desperate hacking and stabbing. Even if Sir Williams was not tipsy, Joe is far superior in every way.

“Or maybe less than a pig,” Joe continues to insult, “as you have the bearing and manners of an uncultured swine. No, I retract that statement, that would insult the animal. You are lower than that. I have seen a clump of shit with more integrity and honour than you, Sir Williams.”

It looks like Sir Williams’ body is tiring, even though his rage is not. His wild swings of his sword begin to slow, his breathing becoming heavy and laboured. It is obvious that he does not spend much time on sword skills, or physical exertion at all. 

“Fucking son of a whore!” Sir Williams bellows, splittle flying. He slashes again.

Joe steps aside easily. “My mother was no such thing,” he says, “but yours, I imagine, was. Why else would you become something so despicable, to cheat and lie honest people out of their hard earned money when you do not want for any, to harass young men and women, to taunt and torture a man such a Nicky, your own fiance, with such disgusting, inhuman words? To hit such a lovely, beautiful face? To cause someone so sweet as him such pain? You are truly lower than horseshit. You deserve no respect, Sir Williams.” And with that, Joe spits on him. The entire crowd gasps at the insult. Nicky’s eyes go huge. Andy chuckles beside him, and Nile whoops quietly. 

Sir Williams howls at being so disgraced. He hacks forward, but overextends himself. Embarrassingly, he trips over his own feet, and falls into the gravel in an undignified heap, his sword clattering as it slips from his grip. Joe stands above him, shoves him over onto his back with a foot, and presses the tip of his sword against Sir Williams’ neck. The cold steel jabs into his skin, and draws a bead of blood.

“You will never lay a hand intending to hurt on Nicky again,” Joe says. While Sir Williams pants and splutters for air, his shirt soaked through, Joe’s chest moves steadily, his mouth pressed into a grim line. “You will never say a word that is not kind, or worshipping, to him. Swear on your honour, as little as you have of it. Swear it, so everyone will hear, from the noblemen and women to the townsfolk to your servants and your butlers and maids, who hear everything in your mansion, so if they catch any wind of harm to Nicky, they will come to me, and I will cut your saggy, pathetic balls from your body.”

Sir William’s face burns with humiliation at being beaten so effortlessly and so soundly in front of the entire county. He will never have any respect again, from his peers or from those below him. But he cannot escape the laws of the duel. Joe had drawn first blood. He must yield. “I swear it,” he whispers.

“Louder,” Joe commands.

“I swear it,” Sir Williams says, and Joe steps back, satisfied. He wipes the tip of his sword, tainted with Sir Williams’ blood, on Sir William’s shirt. Then he turns to Nicky, who steps forward, his eyes relieved and then turning horrified at the sword rising behind Joe. Sir Williams has gotten to his feet, quicker than anyone thought possible, his sword in hand. His eyes burn hatefully, his face twisted in madness and fury as he raises his sword higher, and Nicky’s heart stutters to a stop as he begins to swing down against Joe’s vulnerable back.

“Joe!” Nicky screams.

Joe spins on his heel, and in a move almost too fast to see, sweeps his own sword in the wide open space Sir Williams’ has left vulnerable over his body with his own blade held so high. Steel cuts through cloth and flesh alike like butter, and Sir Williams falls to his knees, blood gushing from the long, mortal gash cut diagonally from shoulder to hip. He chokes, coughing up crimson spittle, his eyes wide and disbelieving. He collapses forward. He breathes a death rattle, and then is still.

Everyone is silent for a moment. There is only the sound of the wind in the trees, the birds chirping, the insects singing. And then someone, nobody knows who, gives up a cheer. And then everyone is clapping and hollering, with only a few of Sir Williams’ friends melting back into the crowd, disappearing with pale, drawn faces.

Nicky throws himself forward, into Joe’s waiting arms. He’s crying, he thinks, but for the first time in a long while, it is from happiness. Joe hugs him close, burying his nose into Nicky’s neck, inhaling the scent of him. Someone takes Joe’s blade, possibly Booker, but Nicky only has eyes for the man in front of him.

“Thank you,” Nicky blabbers, peppering kisses over Joe’s lovely face, his cheeks and nose and forehead and beard. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, oh, are you alright? My Lord, Joe, thank you!” Later, he may be ashamed of his blatant happiness over his husband’s death, but nobody will blame him. 

Joe just holds him close, soothing the relieved shakes that wrack Nicky’s body. “My love, my moon,” he whispers, and kisses Nicky sweetly. Nobody cares that it is improper, that Nicky is newly widowed by only seconds. Everyone is too busy celebrating.

~~~

Sir Williams’ body is left lying there for a long while. Nobody wants to touch it. It is Nicky who first approaches, feeling vaguely sick at Sir Williams’ vacant eyes, the pool of blood thickening around his body. Joe tries to pull him away, but Nicky shakes his head, and continues forward to stand next to what is left behind of his tormentor.

“Nobody deserves death,” Nicky mutters to his dead husband, “but I will not mourn you for a moment.” He slips his ring off his finger, and drops it onto Sir Williams’ cooling corpse. He breathes out, and feels a weight be freed from his soul. Then he turns, and goes to Joe, who smiles at him, and takes his hand to lead him away.

~~~

Later, Nicky is very, very cross with Joe for putting himself in harm's way, for taunting Sir Williams into such a rage that he was driven to break the sacred law of duelling and attack after yielding, and at a turned back at that, even if that was the only way Joe could legally kill him to free Nicky from his marriage. He’s even madder when it turns out that it was the plan all along, and gives Andy a stern talking to about using Joe in her schemes, even if it was for his own benefit. And then he pushes past his own hesitance over physical contact with people he doesn’t really know, and hugs her tightly, pressing a grateful, tearful kiss to her cheek. 

~~~

The traditional mourning period for a widow is two years.

Joe and Nicky get married after one. 

No one objects.

Nicky is led down the aisle by a proud Andy, as Nicky has no older family to do so, and his mother has made herself particularly scarce as of late and is not at the wedding (she had not been invited). Andy is more family to him than she ever was, anyway. Nile beams at him from her seat as he walks past, her hair twisted into intricate braids dotted with flowers, her hand clutching excitedly at Quynh's. Quynh winks playfully at Nicky, twiddling her fingers in a cheeky wave. Waiting at the altar is Joe, tears in his eyes as he watches Nicky approach, handsome as ever in his white wedding clothes. At his side is Booker, standing tall and proud, a wide smile on his handsome face.

Andy leads Nicky to stand next to Sofia, who is openly weeping tears of joy for her brother. Nicky smiles at her, and she cries even harder. 

Surrounded by family, Joe and Nicky exchange vows, then rings, then seal their marriage with a kiss. As Joe dramatically dips Nicky backwards, and Nicky laughs his delight against Joe’s answering smile, Nicky thinks that nothing could ever be more perfect.

He’s wrong. Life, with Joe at his side, only gets better from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D
> 
> I hope everyone is satisfied with the ending! Thank you everyone for reading, or leaving a kudos or a comment, you all are amazing and ily.

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know what you think!
> 
> Also, if you wanna chat or yell about our favourite immortals, come join a 18+ tog discord [here](https://discord.gg/DwKHcym). Everyone is super nice and we would love to have you. :)


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